


100% All Natural Water, No Sugar Added!

by RedUnicorn003



Series: Eternally stuck with you, in this life and the next. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedUnicorn003/pseuds/RedUnicorn003
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's life, to be completely honest, sucks. However, as the old saying goes: one you hit rock bottom the only place left to go is up, even though science still isn't aware just how deep 'rock bottom' is considering that we've barely explored the oceans so it is possible that there are trenches that no technology that we know of could ever reach the bottom of........or perhaps this so called rock bottom is the molten core of the earth, of which you would die upon reaching. Unless, of course you're into those really horrible science movies like The Core, but hey that's your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Math

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so a little heads up, this story might get a little chronologically confusing... but don't you worry, me being me foresaw this dilemma and designed the chapter titles to help remedy this issue!!!!! Don't say I don't do nutin for ya. Anyways, I have a vague idea on where I want this story to go. However, due to the severe vagueness of this idea I am 333% (not to be confused with 334%, god I'm not that desperate, okay maybe I am but only for you guys) open to ideas and suggestions. Note Added 4-10/15 To avoid any confusion; this used to be a dragonlock story but I decided it was best if I changed it to non-dragonlock. Don't get me wrong there is nothing wrong with Dragonlock I still think it's great, but i decided for this strory and my writing style it best to remove that. Thanks:)

     The air was heavy as John ran down an old alley way that smelt like rust, vomit and other things he didn't care to mention. His plan of skipping town tonight and escape his psychopathic boyfriend had failed.

     John had been only 15 minutes from the train station when he had received a call from one furious Jim Moriarty. His thumb hovered over the decline option, _no, that would not be good, I might be able to talk my way out of this,_ he thought and pressed accept, bringing the phone up to his ear while doing his best to sound casual.

     "Hello?" He answered, quickening his pace, relieved that he sounded somewhat normal. _Almost there_.

     "Where might you be, my little Johnny Boy?" Moriarty's venomous voice rang through the phone. "Trying to leave me all alone sweetie??" there was a pause, "again? I thought I made it clear last week... I  _need_ you," his voice became mocking at the end. 

     "Corse not Jim, I wou-," John began to say but was cut off by a loud train siren signaling that his ticket out was already leaving without him. He cringed, knowing that such a noise would never escape Moriarty's attention. 

     "What was that?"

     John swallowed, "what was what?"

     "Don't lie to me Johnny." His voice was dangerously low, raising three octaves as he added, "but no worries! Daddy will send someone to pick you up in a minute!!"

     And with that the line was cut off, before John could respond, right as he reached the train station.

     John stood still, panicking. He looked around him, finding he was surrounded by people, all of which were going about their life completely oblivious to him. One man bumped into him, knocking his phone from his hand. He reached out to grab it just in time to see it kicked onto the tracks by a mob of stranger's careless feet. John began to feel dizzy, the hundreds of faces around him starting to blur, while tears treated to impair his vision farther. He looked around searching for an exit, but found none. However, his wide eyes did find and lock with the hard glare of Sebastian Moran,  Jim's favorite late night shag, of who John had the privileged of knowing about.

     Moran's chapped lips spread into a grin, and John ran. He had no idea where. 

      John ran clumsily through the swarm of people, almost colliding with several bystanders one of which was pushing a stroller, and earning many shouts of 'watch it' and 'fuck off'. He threw his head back and saw Moran beginning to trail behind, slowly freeing him, before he was completely stopped behind the lady with a stroller that John had almost run into just a few minutes before. He also witnessed the young lady yelling at Moran telling him about disrespectful youth and child ignorance before he finally rolled his eyes and pushed her out of the way. He looked around, but John had already disappeared inside a wave of people. 

     The chase had lasted about 3 minutes before John was almost positive he had successfully escaped the supervision of Moran, leaving him to drown in an ocean of bodies. John began quickly maneuvering through the swarm of strangers, having found the an exit,  he keep low and hard to distinguish, eyes rarely leaving his target. He grabbed a guys hat and put it on, hoping it would help to disguise him further, after all he wasn't completely safe just yet. He was looking over his shoulder, keeping a look out for the other man when he walked straight into a someone talking on the phone, making him spill his coffee all over himself and promoting one last yell of, "watch it!" 

     "Sorry," John mumbled, finally reaching the exit. He gave the crowd one last sweep before deciding that it was time to leave, and for the second time that night he started running without a destination. His only thought being to get as far away from the train station as possible. 

     And that's how he ended up here, completely lost, in an alley that smelled like hell. That (just his luck) was also a dead end. He cast a glance around, thankful when he found a ladder leading to the rooftop. If he valued anything that his one summer of military boot camp had taught him it was that height was a great way to find your bearings. All he had to do was climb, and hope the roof would give him enough elevation to see over around the tall, neighboring London buildings.

 

     It took him about 5 minutes to reach the top, panting, he scrambled over the ledge and onto the graveled rooftop. Eyes squinting through the darkness, he pulled himself to his feet. The city he had left below him provided enough luminescence for his eyes to catch sight of a man looking at the city from the ledge opposite of him. From what John could make out about him, he was tall, had a lean build, had a head full of dark chaotic curls.

     He stood there for a moment, confused by how the other boy (as he also looked to be about Johns age) seemed completely ignorant of his presence, after all his entrance wasn't exactly assassin quality. He started walking toward the figure, not sure why, but he knew that at that moment, he didn't really care what happened. After a few more steps, when he was about 20 feet from the other boy one of his feet un-stealthily landed on and snapped a dried branch that, in turn, made a thunderous noise in the otherwise quite night. John froze, _that will get his attention_.

     However, after a few uneventful moments of which the roof top company had shown no signs of life, John kept walking. The voice in his mind that convinced him to pursue a career as a doctor told him to worry whether of not this person was okay, or in need of help. After all it wasn't normal to be on an alley access rooftop at this time in the night, with these new questions circling his mind, John's memories of how he had ended up in this situation left, causing thoughts of his own safety to slip from his consciousness. As the voice in his head became louder and louder, his pace became faster and faster.  

     John soon reached the other boy _._

     "Hello?" John questioned hoarsely, finding it hard to gather his voice.

     Still nothing. 

     John lightly placed his hand on the curly haired boy's back shoulder area as he said, "look, sorry for bothering you but, are you okay?"

     As soon as the word 'okay' left his mouth the boy spun around to face him with surprising speed, almost knocking John over with the wind his wings produced. The first thing that John noticed was that this boy, was beautiful. He had elegant cupid bow lips, high, prominent cheekbones, which right above held amazing, unexplainable colored eyes, barely visible under his mess of curls. His expensive purple shirt was mostly unbuttoned, allowing people to see his smooth pale skin .

     The second thing he noticed about this beautiful boy was that he looked royally pissed off. John had started to apologize, when he saw the boy's features gradually soften, he looked at John as if he had told him the answer to a problem he always wanted to solve, or like John was some sort of great discovery achievable only by years of labor. His mouth opened, wanting to say something, and John just stood there, in a trance striving to hear what the stranger had to say.

     And for the first time in a long time John felt happy. A warmth started to grow inside him, and he smiled. It was not just one of those fake ones he would do in the mirror to try and convince himself into thinking that he was content with life, either.

     However, a few seconds later, the strangers mouth closed abruptly and he fled the scene. The warmth was gone. John was alone. Again.

     He stood there, immobile, looking off into nothing. The cold was finding it's way through his jacket, adrenaline starting to die down, and memories of how he ended up on the rooftop began crashing back, when he heard a voice.

     "You're so pathetic, you know that?"

      _Moran._

     

     

     

     

      

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so today I had what I would like to call an epiphany. I was sitting there bored, and BAM a flood of ideas came to me. Now I'm super excited to write about it, so it was also a motivation boost:) Anyways thanks for reading, please let me know if I screwed up on something, like spelling, I'm shit at spelling. Anyways, I appreciate you reading this so so so so much, like if I get a subscriber or something it's like Christmas.... 
> 
> I wish you good health you little doves.


	2. A reason for escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this update took forever and a Monday but basketball just started. Also, it was a nightmare trying to get this chapter on one computer to another. This chapter is basically how Sherlock ended up on the rooftop. I was going to make it longer but I figured it would be best to just get what I had out there. So without further ado, enjoy:) P.S please mention any spelling or grammar mistakes:)

       _He could have killed her, lysising her body with dilute boiling hydrochloric acid... No, too messy and the body wouldn't have dissolved by then. Plus, Derek wasn't that clever. Maybe if it was Lilly who killed her, after all she did have that larger patch of  deep turned up soil  in her garden. She said that her cat died recently, that would explain how the smell could've been masked from the dogs, but Lilly was out of the country around that time._ "No,no,no," Sherlock mumbled to himself , pushing off his mattress in favor of pacing around the cluttered room where newspaper clippings and illegally obtained police files covered the floor as leaves would in the streets of autumn. He sighed, there wasn't enough information, he would have to do some investigating on his own.  So far he had only watched police video tapes of the interrogations.

     The front door slammed from below, he froze, the head Holmes had arrived. Sherlock didn't dare to breath as heavy footsteps climbed their way up the stairs and eventually down the hall, lingering approximately 2.36 seconds longer outside of his door, but soon continued on. Sherlock released his captured breath and walked toward his window. The glass radiated a slight chill, as nights were getting colder and darker. Winter would be here in no time. It was a good thing, Christmas break was the only time of the year when he could go extended periods of time away from school. And with all the relatives congregating at his house, his parents would be forced to pretend they gave two shits about him.

      Staring out into the night his thoughts of murder began to fade only to be replaced with the much louder voice of his father reminding him of how much of a mistake and family scar he was. He hadn't even been born the day his life had taken a horrible turn, but if he had it would've been remembered in exact detail. He was a reminder to his father of his mothers unfaithful act, a product of adultery. And there was nothing to be done about it besides the surrender of his mind to the comfort that could only be found at the injection of a needle full of heroin and a few lines of cocaine. Bringing the delusion that everything was okay.

     Sherlock could feel a wave of dependence and longing wash around him with intent to drown. Fingers laced in black curls and muscles tensed, "shut up!" He called out to no one but his experiments. He tried to remember and enact his summer rehab programs advice on how to prevent a relapse. It was the second time this week he had tried and failed. After awhile all determination was lost, and as he walked to his stash, his body relaxing just at the thought.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Trembling, his long fingers reached out. Lifting up his skull he found that the space that his drugs was supposed to occupy instead held a note. It simply read: Nice Try. ~MH.

     "Fuck," Sherlock spit out, now he would have to sneak out into the cold and convince his dealer to meet him. Grumbling stubborn complaints, he made his was over to his jacket which was hanging uncaring from his splintered bed post, he put it on and wrapped his neck in the navy scarf just off to the side.

     He opened his window and slid out, making a graceful landing from a rather intimidating height. Brushing off dirt from his long, dark jacket he made his way down the street towards the rooftop meeting place. He fished around in his pockets for his phone, removing it to type out a quick message, while keeping a brisk pace in the crowded street. 

     Meet me in 30, bring some stuff. -SH

     Placing the phone back in his pocket he continued to walk. The response came fairly quick.

     Oh honey, that's the fifth time in three weeks. Plus I gave you twice the usual last time. Are you sure it's just the drugs you want ;) -JM

     The queen found my hiding place, and no, you disgust me. -SH

     That was rude :( Anyways, I have a rather pressing matter to attend to at the moment so I don't think I can make it :( -JM

     I'll pay you double. -SH

     Sorry babe, can't. I have to run an academy, Baskerville Academy nonetheless. As well as the... 'side jobs' of course.-JM

     Sherlock rolled his eyes, he didn't have time for this and Jim always had a price.

     Fine. What will it take? -SH

     Ohhhh desperate, I like that. I want you to beg. Send me a picture of the great Sherlock Holmes down on his knees. -JM

     Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh and squeezed his phone he really needed to get this over with. Every second he spend away from his house brought him one second closer to Mycroft noticing his absence.

     Please? -SH

      That's it? My dear Sherly you really are no fun! However, I do believe I will enjoy seeing you on your knees more in person... See you in 40 minutes;) -JM

       _What a prick,_  he thought. A man walked by Sherlock in the crowded street, he was of average height with burly muscles and an array of prison tattoos. And he didn't even notice when his wallet got stolen, staged as a causal shoulder bump from a curly haired stranger who profusely apologized afterwards. "Freak," was all the man had remarked.

     Sherlock smirked, the common public was really too simple. Even a bouncer like that should have noticed when he was being robbed.

     "Idiot," he mumbled as he opened the wallet and pulled out all the cash, proceeding to dump the evidence in a nearby plant. Perfect, there was enough money to get what he needed and then some, he stuffed the money into his pocket.

     After a few more bends and turns Sherlock arrived in the alley. He walked up to the ladder and started climbing. The metal rungs were cold, and if you looked up they would fade into the night creating the illusion that they would just continue on forever. Sherlock didn't mind though, he had scaled them before and under worst conditions. 

     Upon reaching the top he walked over to the far side of the building. Sherlock looked over off into the city admiringly. As he stood and watched the weight of the day finally hit him like a high speed train. From the moment he woke up and forced himself into the hell known as school he knew it was going to be a long 24 hours, and he was right. Anderson had been more of a two brain celled inbred than normal, and when he got home his parents were fighting. He had gone up to his room only to be forced to listen to them argue for a good hour over topics that had been resolved a million times before. Which had routinely ended in his dad storming out of the house to end his night  wasted away in countless amounts of alcohol instead of with his family.

      He still had awhile left to wait before Jim would arrive, and the concept of operating under Mycroft's attention was already thrown out the window. He had approximately 15 minutes until he would be found out, but lucky on these dark nights trying to find any one person was harder than wrestling a bear with one hand and a broken leg.

     Sherlock removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, hoping the cool air would give him a mild rush. The weather wasn't ideal, but it was bearable without an excess layer. The chilling air that was at one time a nuisance became an ally.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Deep in his mind palace, staring out into the city lights, Sherlock's grasp of time slipped away. He became detached, unaware of his surroundings, in a place secure from the grasp of reality.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         If he had been grounded, he would most definitely have heard when a boy -escaping his psychopathic boyfriend- scrambled, with not quite assassin quality, onto the roof top.

     However, what he did notice was that said boy's hand touched his back. And it sent him tumbling back to reality. Hard. Sherlock was furious, and turned around to confront the object of his distress.

      _Born in Canada. Smells like tea and clean laundry, Tide? Not his hat, the adjustments are set to big for him. Why would he be wearing a strangers hat? Likely running from something, not many people come here by choice. Suffers from night terrors, the bags under his eyes say it all. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Wait...blue eyes? Why is he looking at me like that? Should I say something? What? Why do I feel like I know him? He could be working for Mycroft? Am I experiencing Paranoia? No, I'm just being cautious. Best to leave now. But I don't want to? DEFIANTLY LEAVE NOW!  
_

And with that, Sherlock was gone. He made it down the ladder and across a platform, then with some remedial roof hoping he manged to reach a rooftop about a block away just in time to see one of Moriarty's blackened vans pull up near their meeting spot.

~~

    John turned around slowly to face his company. Moran was clad in black combat boots, faded blue cargo pants, and an army green jacket which had a white tank top tucked in underneath. His dog tags hung low over his chest. John's tongue begged to reply with something along the lines of, 'Pathetic? You would know about pathetic. You're nothing but a useless fucking lap dog.' but the urge was choked down with a side of brutal sting as he remained silent.

     Sebastian moved his gloved hand from its place on his belt and took the dying cigarette from the side of his mouth, throwing it to the floor to be crushed by one of his heavy boots. "What nothing to say for yourself? Eh, hell it doesn't matter. Won't take away any of the fun I'm going to have beating the shit out of you."

     Moran stepped forward a few feet, stopping to take off his gloves, "don't want to get blood on these," he said and with a teasing smirk he added, "your boyfriend just bought them for me." He placed them on the ground, rolling up his sleeves.

     "Ready?" he asked, and hell if John wasn't going down without a fight.

      


	3. Let us fall asleep on this rooftop together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will no longer give any author crap for not updating often..............sorry:( To be honest I don't know about this chapter it seems kinda thrown together, if you would like me to edit it just say so it's totals fine:) Anyways I would like to give special thanks to Krekta, Sinlesschick6, dirtygirl42, Secret_H, btaz2, whosherlockian, and AndoraStorm! You guys...are glamorous! And as a side note if any of you have a tumblr, my url is redunicorn003 and mutual followers is just another word for good friend ;)

     Moran charged forward, his right fist swinging out aimed for John's eye. John side stepped the blow leaning back, but was caught in the stomach by Moran's second hit. He felt like throwing up, hunched over he glanced up and saw a metallic shimmer. John reached out, pulled Moran's head down by his dog tags and nose met knee. His free hand clamped around the back of his attackers neck and he shoved them to the ground. Moran rolled onto his back, his eyes were screwed shut and his hand cupped his now gushing nose. Still slightly winded from the hit to the stomach John fought to gather his breath. Lying on the ground, Moran took advantage of the short break, sitting up he wrapped his arms around the standing man's knees and pulled him to the ground as well, landing atop Moran. He turned them over and straddled the still confused John. He took no time to resume punching the younger boy. His body crushing their ribs and lungs, arms pinned under his legs. Some of the unattended nose blood dripped from Moran's face onto John's and joined the fast appearing cuts. Moran adjusted his position on top of John, using one hand to pin his arms above the his head. Moran knee was now digging into the boy below him's upper thigh. John struggled to get one of his legs free. After a few more punches, he managed to release his captured leg and used his knee to hit Moran in the side. The older boy caught himself, his spare hand planted above John's trapped ones. With the sudden opening John released his hands and pushed Moran from atop him in favor of beside. It was his turn to have the advantage. He got a few good hits in before Moran caught his fist. John pushed down with all he had but it was in vain. Moran was stronger by far. His arm gave way and with the added pressure gained from Moran's hand, which was still wrapped tightly around his, the knockout blow was landed.

     Things became black and hazy. The only thing he was completely aware of was the fluid with a very prominent metallic taste gliding into his mouth. Coughing slightly he felt like there was hole tearing through his throat.

     Panting with his nose still decently bleeding. Moran stood up. And with a few more kicks he made sure that the other boy was completely knocked out.

     "Kids a smart fighter, I'll give him that," he huffed, wiping his tender nose. Bending down he collected John's bruised body, placing him around his neck like a morbid scarf and headed for the ladder. Stopping only to pick up his gloves.

     After fumbling his way down the ladder Moran walked to the black, tinted windowed van waiting just outside the entrance to the alley. He hated that van. It was cramped and shitty, nowhere near as good as the limo. But Jim had insisted on being discrete tonight. They had argued, 'made-up' and Jim in the end, as always, had gotten what he wanted. He trudged his way up to it and threw open the door.

     "Took you long enough. Dear me Sebi you sure are getting slow!" taunted a dark figure sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat. The light gleaming from his cell pone was all that gave clue to his presence much less his identity. His erratic voice, however, was all it took for anyone to distinguish that it was in fact Moriarty.

     "Fucker put up a fight. Nearly busted my nose in the process." Moran snapped back. Tossing a still unconscious John into an open seat.

      "Excuses! will get you no where." Jim seethed. "Besides all my boys and girls are good fighters and god do I pick them well!" Sebastian rolled his eyes at the threat.

      "I have to go run a little 'errand' and I expect it to take a while, so you'll make sure our Johnny gets tucked in nice tonight, won't you darling?" He sang before making his exit from the van. Sebastian slid into the now vacant passenger seat watching as Jim headed into the dark still texting, Moran couldn't care less about who.

     Just as the driver was about to pull away Jim threw up a hand commanding it to a halt. He turned with unnecessary dramatic flare, pranced to the window, leaned in and whispered to Moran.

     "One more thing, I suggest you remember who it is you work for. Just because you are one of my favorites doesn't mean I will hesitate to turn you into boots. After all, I do need a new pair." Moran could sense the smile in his voice.

     "That will be all." He announced, tapping the roof as a signal to the driver to proceed.

     "I hate this fucking van," Moran huffed under his breath as they pulled away, finally leaving the rooftop as well as the long night behind, "there's no whiskey."

     The electric clock on the CD player read ten minutes till midnight.

~~

     Sherlock was just about to leave and head home when he felt his phone vibrate. The screen shown though his slacks pocket. He didn't even need to check it to know that it was Jim. The only people who would bother to contact him would be Jim or Mycroft, and his brother would have called.

     He jumped from the rooftop. Worried to see the blonde stranger after his thought lapse and untimely retreat, he decided to settle on wsalking the streets instead to get back to their designated meet up point. Once he came upon the ladder once more for the night, he reached for it but took a moment to pause and button his shirt up before continuing. God knows what would come over Jim if he saw Sherlock's publicly indecent exposure.

     He reached the top, walked pass Jim to the edge and collected his jacket that he had left it behind. He turned to face Jim, pulling on his coat.

     "Let's make it quick, all right?" Sherlock questioned in his most condescending tone. He felt something wet touch his fingers. Rubbing them together he held his hand to closer to his face searching for adequate light. It was red. Smelled like iron. It wouldn't take a aspiring consulting detective to tell what it was. He dragged his hand over the cuff of his jacket, more blood.

     "My apologizes, had a rather pressing matter as I'm sure you remember. Also, don't worry it will be over as soon as you pay and I see that sight I was promised!" Moriarty chimed.

     Sherlock's eyes shot to Jim, widening. It was him who that boy was running from. He was gone, there was blood. That kid obviously wasn't a junkie, so why was he involved with a dealer?

 _If this is his blood, it's your fault. You could have stayed. Protected him. Maybe he is dead now. Probably is, there is a lot after all._ Sherlock's chest tightened, this was the final proof he needed to show he was worthless. Incapable of a simple deduction that could save a good persons life. He walked forward until he was directly in front of Jim and fell to his knees. He landed in some more wetness and he could feel it seeping through his tailored slacks. Desperate to just give up and escape his mind for the rest of the night he looked up at the dealer through his lashes.

      "Please?" he inquired, barely audible.

      Jim's hands clasped together in front of his mouth obviously pleased. After a minute one hand moved to run through Sherlock's hair pulling his head back in the process. The other tucked itself away in a occupied pocket. "On the first date?! Wow I would have thought you had more respect for yourself! But it is lovely we really should do it more often!" Moriarty's dangerous eyes locked on Sherlock's.

     "Well go ahead, don't be a tease." Jim taunted.

     "That wasn't part of the deal." Sherlock scrapped together, his throat felt dry.

     Jim rolled his eyes and his hand released the dark curls holding itself in front of Sherlock as he sighed. "I really should be paying you tonight. But business is business and I need to make a living so I'm going to have to ask you to pay up, sorry dear." Moriarty's lips turned into a false sympathetic frown.

     Sherlock took the money from his coat and put it in the waiting hand. Jim pulled out a bag from his pocket and held it out to Sherlock. He reached for it but Jim pulled away holding it to his chest, eyes averting as he added, "You know we wouldn't have to worry about that boring brother of yours if you would just move in with me. Just so you know the offer still stands."

     And with that Jim tossed the bag to the ground and tuned to walk away. He could hear Sherlock's shaky fingers already fumbling with the it.

     "Goodnight Sherly. I had fun!" He shouted looking behind him and winking at the man on the floor.

      Now Sherlock was alone. Just like he had always wanted, right? And didn't hesitate to shove the needle in his arm, ready to give it all up.

     The last thing he remembered was being carried from the rooftop into one of Mycroft's cars. There was yelling and maybe something muttered about a boy who saw Sherlock. Potentially the same boy whose blood now soaked his fitted attire .


	4. Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been like a year, and this chapter is really short but I'm going to try and write a lot again. Also, I did change the story again and added in an ESSENTIAL bit of information in chapter 2. Anyways, hope you enjoy:) And thanks a bunch!

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You know what this means right?"

"Sure."

Mycroft deflated and leaned deeper into the lush chair cushions. Something had to be done. He had nearly exercised all his options-which were comparatively large-to keep Sherlock clean. "We've decided that it's in the best interest to switch your school again."

"That didn't work last time, or have you already forgotten? You're wasting your time, worse yet mine." Sherlock snidely remarked from the other large chair that adorned the room, arms crossed and refusing to grace the other with the simple gesture of eye contact. In an ordinary day-to-day setting the lavish chairs would be angles towards the fireplace, but due to the circumstances the angles were changed so that the two occupants would be forced to look at the opposing. Lucky them.

Mycroft sighed, "This school is different."

"How so?" The little brother turned to glare into his company, daring him to impress him. In all honesty Sherlock didn't mind the change, he hated his current school anyway but, as it does in most situations, pride got in the way (it was also a bonus to make his older brother's life as much of a hell as possible too).

"Between the days of Monday and Friday you will be staying both your complete days and nights at the academy under strict surveillance." Sherlock's head jerked up slightly, a silent mutual understanding of the schools specialty hanging between them. "During Saturdays and Sundays you will be allowed to return home."

"Fine." The younger Holmes said using his hands to raise him from his seat.

"My dear brother you're really going to give up that easily?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Well it doesn't matter what I say to you now does it? The decision was already made before I even walked in the room."

"Right you are." Mycroft mumbled. He to now lifted himself up to retire his chair.

Sherlock was reaching for the door handle when the older Holmes interjected, "Oh, and one more thing, the school's name is Baskerville Academy."

Grabbing the handle and turning away from the fireplace a smile spread across Sherlock's face. He could barely contain his excitement as he proceeded to his room.

Perfect. _Ironic how good intentions turn out._

  


 

 


End file.
